


And I Ain't No Fool for Love Songs

by Telesilla



Category: Baseball RPF, Sports RPF
Genre: Future Fic, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-05
Updated: 2015-10-05
Packaged: 2018-04-24 21:20:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,199
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4935739
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Telesilla/pseuds/Telesilla
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>For a moment, it's like the last twenty years never happened, like he and Tim are about to head over to the bullpen for a session.</em>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	And I Ain't No Fool for Love Songs

_I'm not the kind of man_  
Who tends to socialize  
I seem to lean on  
Old familiar ways  
And I ain't no fool for love songs  
That whisper in my ears  
Still crazy after all these years  
Oh still crazy after all these years  
\--Still Crazy After All These Years by Paul Simon

 

_Friday, June 6, 2035_   
_SF Giants vs Colorado Rockies @AT &T Park_

 

"What do you think?" Buster asks. "I like what I'm seeing."

"Yeah me too," Brandon says. He rests his arms on the back of the batting practice backstop and leans on them as he watches Jackson take her swings. "She's still standing a little too far back in the box, but this is better."

"How's her grip? Does she need to change that too?" 

"Fergoshsake, Pose, that was, like, over twenty years ago." 

Buster laughs. "Like that's going to stop me?" He watches as Jackson hits what would be at least a double, maybe a triple because God knows she's got speed. "Okay, let's see how she goes tonight. If she has a good game I'm going to move her up to sixth in the order tomorrow."

"Sounds good," Brandon says. As Jackson finishes her turn, Brandon nods at Buster and ambles over to talk to her. She's fairly tall for a woman, but Brandon still towers over her. He's turned into something of a mentor for her--one of the first out gay players helping one of the first female players maneuver her way through big league pitching and big league scrutiny. Buster knows he lucky to have both of them. 

With a little shake of his head, he turns his attention back to batting practice. 

As usual there are plenty of people on the field behind him. Buster's never been all that happy about having observers who have nothing to do with the team hanging around, but interacting with some of them is part of his job. At least, he thinks as he turns his head several minutes later and sees Hunter coming across the grass toward him, he doesn't mind some of them.

"Hey," Hunter says. They exchange a quick bro hug. "How's it going?"

"Why are you even asking me?" Buster says with a laugh. "I mean you can ask your other half whenever you want."

Hunter glances over to where Brandon is still talking to Jackson, his hands slicing through the air as he demonstrates a swing. "I was asking about you personally, not the team."

"Oh right," Buster says. "Sorry. You know how I get."

"One track mind," Pence says. He watches as Miller takes his swings. "You got a minute? There's someone here who wants to say hello."

"Buster?"

Buster's pretty sure he'd know that voice anywhere, but here, at AT&T with the bricks and green grass stretching out in front of him, there's no way he wouldn't recognize it. He closes his eyes for a moment, takes a deep breath and then turns a little.

Over the years Buster's seen Tim on TV a time or two--okay, fine, a lot more times than that--but it's still a shock to see him in person. For a moment, it's like the last twenty years never happened, like he and Tim are about to head over to the bullpen for a session. It doesn't help that Tim hardly looks like he's aged--unlike Buster, who's suddenly acutely aware of the weight he's put on since he last saw Tim in person. God, has it really been six years?

Tim's staring at him just as intently and then he smiles broadly and steps forward. "Hi," he says, sounding almost hesitant. 

"Hi," Buster says.

The hug is the same kind of hug Buster exchanged with Hunter, only it's not, not at all. Because never mind six years--all Buster can think of is a night twenty-six years ago in hotel room in Atlanta when they'd had too much to drink and were still amped up after their first postseason win. He remembers the way Tim's hair smelled like weed and the way their mouths tasted like tequila and the way the lean muscles of Tim's arms felt hard under Buster's hands.

"Hi," he says again when they step back. "How the hell are you doing?"

"Not bad," Tim says. "You?"

"I'm good." And wow, this is weird and awkward. He's more aware of Tim than he should be and he's never been all that good at small talk. "What's up?" 

"I'm here to do the X-Games," Tim says.

"Oh right," Buster says. "We'll be back on the road by then."

"Yeah, Mission Rock's gonna be crazy enough with us there."

"Are you doing the skateboard events again?" Buster's only ever caught a little of the Summer X Games; he's usually way too busy to pay much attention to anything but baseball. He's seen the Winter X Games, though, and somehow he always ends up watching the events Tim calls during the Winter Olympics.

When Tim nods, Buster smiles and says, "you're really good behind the mike."

"Thanks," Tim says, smiling back at Buster.

They just smile at each other like idiots for a moment or so, then, just as Tim's opening his mouth to say something, someone else says "Dude!"

Brandon almost tackles Tim. "Hunter said you were getting in today! Good to see you, man!"

"You too," Tim says. He slaps Brandon on the back and then lets him go.

"You're staying for the game?" Buster asks. 

"Hell yeah," Tim says. 

"We're going out after," Hunter says, glancing at Buster. "You want to come?"

Hunter and Brandon try to drag Buster out after games all the time. It makes Buster feel a little pathetic because all three of them know he doesn't have much of a life outside of the game. He usually goes with them, though, for that very reason. And even if he didn't, he's not going to turn them down tonight. 

"Sure," Buster says. "Do you want to watch BP?" he asks Tim.

"Nah," Tim says after looking around. "I wanted to say hi to Fleming."

It's a close, tense game, but in the end, the Giants beat the Rockies, thanks in a large part, to a fantastic double play started by Jackson in the 9th. She gets a couple of hits as well and, yeah, Buster's going to move her up in the batting order. Right now, the offense is in a bit of a slump, but one thing Buster knows from years of experience is that one hitter getting hot is sometimes all it takes to get everyone else going. 

Buster had to lean on the bullpen a lot tonight too; he spends the last couple of innings working out how he's going to deal with it tomorrow if Martin can't give him at least seven innings. And Ryang hasn't had a day off in weeks. His legs seem to be a little dead, but he's really good with Martin, and Buster hates to break up that battery. He'll have to play that one by ear.

Those thoughts and a thousand others go through his head during the game, but the knowledge that Tim's watching the game is in the back of his mind the whole time. It wasn't like this last time Tim was at a game Buster managed, but then again, the twenty year reunion of the 2010 World Series team took place during Buster's first year as manager and all he could think during that game was "please don't let me fuck this up in front of these guys."

Tonight though, Buster can't help glancing around each time he goes out for a pitching change. Tim and Hunter are sitting with Alana Baer, right near the Giants' on-deck circle, and each time Buster looks at them, Tim gives him a smile. And each time, Buster has to remember that he's probably on camera so he should really stick to his game face. 

It's pretty late by the time Buster's dealt with all his post-game duties, but Brandon, Hunter and Tim are waiting for him.

"Hey is that place on Valencia still there?" Tim asks. "The Italian one that was always open really late?"

"Yeah," Brandon says. "We were just there a couple weeks ago."

"The team looks good this year," Tim says once they've got their food. "Looks like signing Martin was a good idea after all."

"So far," Buster says, knocking his knuckles on the tabletop. "So good."

"I like him," Hunter says. "He plays the game right."

"Babe, he's totally crazy. He has detailed astrological charts of opposing hitters."

Hunter grins at Brandon. "Like I said, he plays the game right."

"You're such a moron."

"They're still like this?" Tim asks.

"All the damn time," Buster says, shaking his head. "Thank God Hunter doesn't work for me too. It'd be like having a couple of five year olds running around."

"Hey, my kid just got drafted," Brandon says. "So I'm, like, totally an adult."

"Dude, really? That's awesome," Tim says. "Is he gonna sign?"

"Nah, it was the tenth round," Brandon says. "He's committed to UCLA and the Cubs didn't offer much of a signing bonus."

"UCLA? That's not bad."

"He's pretty good," Buster says. "It's not just about his last name."

He waits for Tim to ask about Lee and Addy, but Tim doesn't and Buster's not sure what to make of that. He's pretty sure Tim remembers the kids, but then again, the clubhouse was usually full of kids the last couple of years Tim was with the team. They probably all blurred together or something.

They mostly talk sports for the rest of dinner and the time passes surprisingly quickly. Even though Hunter's not involved in the world of sports beyond his relationship with Brandon, he still pays attention, especially to baseball. Buster's actually bounced ideas off him in the past; sometimes it's nice to talk things over with a friend who has a little distance from the game.

By the time they've finished with coffee and dessert the restaurant's closing up. 

"You wanna hit a bar or something?" Hunter asks.

"Nah," Tim says. "I'm good." 

"Where are you staying?" Buster asks and then, before Tim can answer, Buster finds himself speaking again. "Oh hey, you're gonna be working at Mission Rock next week, right? I'm living over there these days; why don't you stay with me? You can use the place while we're on the roadie." 

"You live across the street from the yard?"

"Across the cove." Buster corrects him automatically, because he's still stuck on how he offered Tim a place to stay. What was he thinking? Oh well, Tim probably won't....

"Sure," Tim says. 

Oh, Buster thinks. Maybe he will.

"Were you just being polite?" Tim asks once he's transferred his luggage from Brandon's truck to Buster's. "I'm at the Zetta on ESPN's dime."

"Nah, I was serious," Buster says, a little surprised at how much he means it.

"Cool."

They're silent the rest of the trip, but it's like it was during the game--Buster's oddly _aware_ of Tim. He doesn't get it; he thought he got over Tim years ago, but, it seems, not so much. Too bad, he tells himself firmly. It was just one fucking night very long time ago and Tim never seemed to want more than that.

"You might as well be across the street," Tim says once he's dumped his stuff in Lee's room. Once the kids weren't living with either of their parents, Buster had their rooms redone; he never liked coming home from college to a room that hadn't changed much since junior high. So at least Tim won't have to put up with photos of super expensive sports cars and concert posters for Sudden Events.

"I like the view," Buster says. "Best yard in baseball." He pauses and then opens the fridge. "You want anything? I've got the usual...beer, coke, water. There's some wine around here somewhere; that cab Hunter and Brandon like."

"Water sounds good." Tim leaves the living room and comes into the kitchen just as Buster grabs a couple of water bottles.

Buster opens his mouth to say something, but Tim's right there and it's 2010 all over again. He takes a step forward and then stops, because no, it isn't. There's no incredible victory behind them and no booze or pot to get them past the awkwardness. "Here," he says and hands Tim a bottle.

"Thanks," Tim says. His voice is a little shaky, or maybe Buster's just imagining it.

They drink their water and shot the shit for a little while longer and then Tim gets the yawns. "Sorry," he says. 

"Don't worry about it. Tomorrow's another night game so you can sleep in unless you have a meeting or something," Buster says. "I put towels out for you in the bathroom. Oh, and I turned on the power pad in Lee's room if you need to charge anything."

"Thanks."

Buster half listens to the last of the midnight broadcast while he figures out tomorrow's lineup; it's a habit he's had ever since his divorce. And of course, round about the 7th inning or so, Dave mentions talking to Tim. Although Tim didn't say anything, Buster's pretty sure Mia talked to him during the TV broadcast as well. Tim's still loved by anyone who remembers him during the brilliant years he had with the Giants and he doesn't come back very often. Buster wonders how hard sitting there watching a game at AT&T was for Tim. Or maybe it wasn't hard at all, maybe that's just an earlier life that Tim's moved on from. 

It's around 3:30 in the morning when Buster wakes up all of a sudden, although for a moment he's pretty sure he's still asleep and dreaming because there's someone in bed with him.

"I...couldn't sleep," Tim says. "Look, tell me to leave if you want to, but...please don't want to."

That's a little more than Buster can really figure out right now, so he rolls over and, no it's not some weird dream. Buster's door is half closed the way he usually leaves it, and the hall light's on, but Buster still can't see Tim's face all that well. He reaches out like he's blind or something and runs his fingers over Tim's cheek. 

"Tim," he says, and he really means to tell Tim that no, they can't, but all he says is, "Tim...." And then he's catching his breath as Tim turns his head and presses a kiss to Buster's palm. 

"Can I stay?" Tim asks, his voice muffled by Buster's palm. 

"Yes," Buster says. "Yes."

It's nothing like that night in Atlanta. Tim's hair smells like shampoo and their mouths taste like toothpaste and Tm's arms are soft under Buster's hands. He's still slim, and maybe Buster should worry about what Tim's thinking about Buster--the roughness of stubble because he still doesn't shaved as often as he should, the extra twenty pounds he carries--but he's not. 

"Fuck," Tim mumbles against Buster's mouth. "Buster...."

"Whatever you want," Buster says and never mind that it's been a ridiculously long time since Buster's been with anyone; he means every word. "God, Tim, whatever you want."

Tim's mouth goes still against Buster's. "Fuck me," he finally says. Something about his tone of voice makes Buster wonder if he meant to say something else, but any concern is swallowed up by the echo of Tim's voice in his head. 

"Yeah...oh yeah," Buster says before kissing Tim hard. It's good, so he does it again and then again before pulling away. "Lemme get my stuff...."

His lube is easy enough to find, but he has to dig a little before he finds a strip of condoms half buried under his tiny collection of toys. Fuck, when did he buy these? Oh right, he was feeling optimistic just before Spring Training. He puts the lube and condoms on the nightstand and turns the light on it's lowest setting, before rolling back over.

Tim's lying on his side, his hair half covering his face. As Buster reaches out and pushes it aside, he remembers all the times down through the years he wanted to do this and, maybe he was wrong earlier. Maybe he's not over Tim; maybe he's never been over Tim.

Neither of them are as frantic as they were earlier but kissing Tim is still awesome and, if the way Tim's moaning, he feels the same way. Buster's so into it that he barely notices they've moved until he pulls back a little and looks down at Tim. Tim's on his back and he's looking up at Buster, his expression serious.

"Is this...?"

"Are you...?"

Tim smiles. "I'm good. You?"

"Good...um, good is putting it mildly."

"Really?" Tim reaches up and pulls Buster down for a kiss while he rolls his hips just a little. He's naked--there's nothing but the thin cotton of Buster's shorts between them.

One more kiss and then Buster reaches for the lube before moving down the bed. "Let me," he says. He says it again--"let me"-- as he wraps his hand around the base of Tim's dick. "Let me," he says yet again, his mouth so close to Tim's dick he can feel the head under his lips.

"Yeah," Tim says, his voice rough. "Like I'm gonna...fuck!"

Buster smiles as much as he can and keeps sliding his mouth down Tim's dick until he reaches his hand. It's been a while, but he figures it's a little like hitting, you never quite lose the knack for it. Tim's hands are moving restlessly across Buster's shoulders, like he needs to reassure himself that Buster's really there. Or maybe Buster's just projecting, because there's a little part of him that still thinks this is a dream. 

Only he doesn't dream about giving Tim head and, he thinks as Tim groans and bucks his hips up, he doesn't dream about almost choking either. 

"Sorry," Tim gasps was Buster raises his head and tries to breathe. "Your fucking mouth...."

"S'okay, just a little out of practice."

As Buster goes back down, he thinks he hears Tim muttering something that sounds like, "good" but he's not sure and anyway, he's got better things to think about. He wasn't lying when he said it had been a while, but even though his jaw's starting to ache a little, he doesn't want to stop. He's missed this more than he knew and for a moment, he thinks maybe he'll just stay down here and suck Tim off for as long as he can.

He changes his mind when Tim tugs gently at his hair and says, "Buster...you've gotta...want you to fuck me."

Okay, yeah, Buster thinks. That's what he wants to do. He can always blow Tim....

Shoving the word later aside, Buster sits up and looks down at Tim. There's the dark smudge of a tattoo Buster can't quite make out on his shoulder, but mostly Buster's looking at Tim's face. Something in Buster's chest tightens a little because Tim's looking up at him and there's none of the pretense and bravado that seemed to be Tim's default during those last stressful seasons when Buster wondered again and again if maybe the writers were right--maybe he and Tim didn't like each other.

"Tim," Buster says, almost helplessly. "Tim...."

Buster's not sure what his own face looks like, but, after a moment, Tim smiles at him. "It's okay," he says. "Buster, it's okay."

"It is now," Buster says and then, before he can really think about what he just said, he reaches for the lube.

They didn't fuck, that night in Atlanta. If they had....

If they had, Buster thinks as he slowly pushes into Tim several minutes later, things might be different. The past might be different. It's not the way Tim feels, although God, he's all tight, slick, heat and Buster kind of wants to fuck him forever. But it's more than that. Buster's fucked quite a few people, but it's hardly ever felt this intimate before--like who he's with matters more than what they're doing. 

That's really more introspection than Buster needs--or wants--right now. Leaning down, he nuzzles under Tim's jaw, remembering just in time that he really can't go leaving hickeys on Tim's neck. Instead, he bites Tim's earlobe and mutters, "good...so fucking good."

"God, Buster," Tim groans. "I...just...more."

"Yeah, I can do that."

Buster reaches down, running his hand down Tim's thigh. He tugs a little at the back of Tim's knee. "Still flexible?"

"Try me," Tim says with a little laugh. He lets Buster push his leg up and then catches his breath when Buster pushes in hard. "That's...that's it...."

Taking a deep breath, Buster looks down at Tim and then starts fucking him again, harder this time, and faster. He's in fairly good shape, but still, he'll probably feel it in his back tomorrow. Then again Tim'll be feeling it too and Buster likes that idea. He also likes the way Tim keeps catching his breath each time Buster pushes back into him. He just...likes having Tim here in his bed. It feels right, somehow.

"Tim," Buster says. "Tim...oh God...can you? Like this?" Because it's good and Buster's good, but he wants to get Tim off more than he wants to get off himself.

"Want to," Tim gasps after a long moment. "Can't though...." He reaches up and puts a hand on Buster's chest. "Roll over," he says. 

Then, just as Buster sits back and thinks, yeah, okay, Tim takes a deep shuddery breath. "I mean...." He pushes at Buster's chest and then shakes his head. "Just on your back."

Buster gets what Tim means as soon as Tim straddles him. "Fuck," he says. "Oh fuck yeah, Tim." 

"Yeah?" Tim says, and there's that catch in his breath again as he slowly sinks down on Buster's cock. Buster rolls his hips a little and Tim stares down at him. "That's...yeah, that's good." He reaches down but Buster bats his hand away.

"Let me," he says, wrapping his hand around Tim's dick. He strokes it nice and easy and then, when Tim makes a little frustrated noise, Buster works his hand a little faster. Tim's doing most of the work and all Buster has to do is jack him off and watch him--all breathless and serious as he rides Buster.

"Fuck," Tim groans. "Buster...God, Buster." His eyes close, but he keeps gasping out Buster's name and it's easily the hottest thing Buster's ever seen. "Buster..."

"Yeah, oh God, yeah Tim...yeah."

Tim chokes out his name one more time, and then comes all over Buster's hand and stomach. He slumps down, resting his hands on Buster's chest and panting hard. "God, Buster." He gulps in another breath and the starts to move again. "C'mon...your turn. Wanna see you, Buster."

With a loud groan, Buster pushes up into Tim and then comes hard, his whole body shaking. "Fuck," he mutters. "Tim, that was fucking incredible."

"Yeah, it was," Tim says with a breathless little laugh before leaning down to kiss Buster again.

Buster wakes up in the morning wondering if it was a dream or something. The sheets are still a mess though, and there's a towel on the bathroom floor. So Tim was here, Buster thinks as he climbs out of bed. Was turns out to be more accurate than Buster would like, though. The apartment is quiet and empty, although Tim's things are still in Lee's old bedroom. Buster will have to give his keys to Hunter or something so Tim can come back and get his stuff.

He's just turning on the coffee maker when the buzzer rings.

"I've got donuts," Tim says into the speaker. 

When he taps on the door, Buster answers it. Tim's grinning, but then he takes one look at Buster and the grin fades away.

"Oh," he says. "God Buster, I'm sorry."

"For what?" Buster asks.

"You thought I took off, didn't you?"

Buster's not sure what Tim saw on his face, but he nods. "I just figured you thought that this was a mistake."

"No," Tim says. He puts the donut bag on the table near the door and then turns to look at Buster. "It wasn't a mistake. Not for me, at least."

"The only mistake I made," Buster says. "Was not saying anything back in Atlanta."

"What would you have said?"

The words comes to mind so easily and, God, how the hell did Buster ever think he'd gotten over Tim? "I don't want this to be a one time thing," he says. "I didn't say it then, but I'm saying it now." He reaches for Tim and when Tim steps in close, Buster slides his arms around Tim's waist. "I don't know how this will work...."

"We'll figure it out," Tim says.

"You'll stay?"

"Yes," Tim says. "Yes I will."

_-end-_

**Author's Note:**

> I've been poking at this and finally finished it during Game 162 of the 2015 season. It was started before Tim had his surgery but since we still don't know where he'll end up, I chose to be a little ambiguous about when he actually left the team. 
> 
> This is part of a headcanon future in which Belt and Hunter have been together for years--ever since they accidentally got outed. Hunter's a writer--Middle Grade fantasy--and BB's Buster's hitting coach. I honestly hope it won't be 20 years before the first women are playing in the MLB, but who knows.


End file.
